


The Glorious City of Water

by ThisCat



Category: One Piece
Genre: Abusive Parents, Gambling, Gen, Inventing tragic backstories for people, Water 7, hopelessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24446449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisCat/pseuds/ThisCat
Summary: Paulie doesn't remember much of being a child. Everything before he was twelve flows together into a haze of hopelessness, wandering the streets of a decaying city because it was better than being home.Water 7 is murky brown, and he is ten, today.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	The Glorious City of Water

“Hey, you shitty brat! Where’ve you been?”

“Just out,” says Paulie.

He’s just barely come in the door and his mother’s already berating him, but she’s laid out on the threadbare couch, an empty bottle at her side, so she isn’t likely to get up.

He still tiptoes around the edge of the room rather than walk right by her.

“Whatever. There’s money in the jar. Go buy me some more booze, would’ya? I’ve got a headache.”

“Yeah alright,” he says, and flees the apartment.

Paulie knows the muggy streets of Water 7 like the back of his hand. Knows the damp, dirty pavement under his feet. He wanders the streets of a crumbling city, filled with a haze of hopelessness and violence, because it’s better than the hopelessness and violence between the walls of his home.

He buys the cheapest bottle of alcohol he can find and is left with a handful of coins.

There are more disreputable people on his way back than usual. Girls wearing nothing and guys with big grins who sway on their feet, so Paulie takes the long way home.

Over the canal, around a block. She won’t notice he's late, and if she does, it won’t make a difference.

There’s a man standing by the canal, shouting, holding a box in one hand and a flag in the other. There are six yagara bulls lined up in the canal beside him.

Paulie quickens his steps. He has a handful of coins left, and she won’t notice if they’re gone, but if he _wins_ ….

“Hey, gimme some good odds, alright? It’s my birthday,” he tells the man.

The man looks down. “Is it? How much’re you betting?”

Paulie counts up the coins in his hand. “Fifty-five beli.”

The man doesn’t look impressed, but he says, “Well, if it’s your birthday, I guess it’s alright. Who are you placing your bet on, then?”

The bulls are neither well-fed nor well-trained, ranging from unenthused to nearly ready to swim off in the other direction. Their saddles are rickety things made out of scrap and cheap materials.

“Green one,” he says, pointing to the one that seems the most focused.

“Alright, kid. I’ll get you real good odds on that one.”

Paulie parts from his handful of coins and settles down at the edge of the canal, swinging his legs while the man gathers bets from aimless pedestrians. He hears someone complain in passing. The bull races are illegal, technically, but no one’s stopping them. They’re the only thing that ever happens around here.

The race starts. The green bull is in the lead.

Paulie jumps to his feet as his heart jumps in his chest. Maybe, _maybe_.

It’s hope, and it’s joy, and it’s excitement that washes away the haze for just the minute it takes for the first bull to round the corner and race towards the finish line. It’s a spot of light.

The green bull finishes third.

Paulie complains with everyone else, then goes home.

The bottle goes in his mother’s hand. Paulie goes to the pantry.

There’s enough there to eat, as long as he isn’t picky and doesn’t mind heating something up himself.

He’s finished eating by the time his mother’s voice again sounds from the couch. “Did you bring back the rest of the money?”

No.

“They raised the price,” he lies, getting up and moving towards the door.

“Like hell they did. Did you steal my money, you brat?”

“No.”

“Gonna die gambling, just like your old man!” she shouts after him, but he’s already fled.

She can’t do anything without getting off the couch, and she won’t do that. Not with her headache acting up.

Paulie wanders the streets.

He heads towards the coast, this time. It’s aimless. The direction doesn’t matter.

Maybe he’ll run into some other kids on the way. That’s usually nice.

But he doesn’t.

The closest he gets is passing a teenager going the other way, a guy with blue hair, wearing only a speedo and walking with purpose. He stands out as a spot of colour in this city of browns and greys, but he disappears around a corner and Paulie moves on without taking note.

There’s an old man sitting at the side of a canal, staring into the water. He’s small and wrinkly, with a pair of orange sunglasses hanging loose around his neck. Paulie’s seen him around before, always looking into the water.

“Hey, old raisin,” Paulie says, dropping down next to him and swinging his legs. “What’cha looking at?”

“Hmm?” the old man says, looking up just briefly. “Oh, the arches of Water 6. It was a beautiful city, you know.”

“It sank like a hundred years ago. Not like you ever saw it.”

The old man huffs, offended, but not angry. He’s worn too thin by this place to have room for anger. “Don’t be rude to your elders. You’re little Paulie, right? How old are you now?”

“Mhm, I’m ten, today,” Paulie says.

“It’s your birthday? Did you get something good?”

“I got good odds at the bull races. That’s something.”

“Oh. Did you win?”

“No.”

“Ah.”

The old man looks back into the water.

Paulie swings his feet and looks up at the hint of blue sky so far above them. At least the sun is shining, though they’re still in the shade down here between the buildings.

“Well, happy birthday,” the old man says. “How about I tell you a story, kid?”

“What story?”

“Have you heard of the glorious city of Water?”

“Obviously,” Paulie says. Everyone has. It’s the only thing anyone ever talks about.

“It was a true shining pearl of the sea,” the old man says, ignoring him. “The greatest city this sea has ever seen, like a gleaming, blue diamond. The buildings were carved out of marble and silver, and the streets were straight and dry and always clean, and even the poorest of families had fully stocked pantries and a bull in the back yard.”

“If the streets were dry, why would they have bulls?” Paulie asks.

“Now shush,” the old man says. “These were proper bulls, I’d imagine. Land bulls, to pull carriages and such. The important thing is everyone was rich, and people came from all over the six seas just to see the city. It reached up for the heavens above and far out into the sea.”

“And then it sank like, a thousand years ago,” Paulie finishes.

“Now you listen here, you brat,” the old man says.

“But it’s _true_.” Paulie’s heels clack against the side of the canal as he leans forward. “Water sank, and then they built Water 2 on top of it, and that city was great too, but not as great as the first one, and then Water 2 sank and they did it again, and every time they do it, things get a little bit worse, and it never gets any better, and that’s why the only thing anyone ever wants to talk about is the past.”

He huffs, drops his hands on the cracked edge of the canal and scowls down at the ruins barely visible under the murky water.

The old man falls quiet for a long time.

Eventually, he says, in a quiet voice, “Water 6 really was a beautiful city.”

“It probably wasn’t,” Paulie says. “It was just better than Water 7.”

Paulie doesn’t know if he believes the glorious city of Water ever existed. If there was ever a sparkling blue diamond here, it’s six times dead. Water 7 is murky brown.

“Things can get better, you know,” the old man says, sounding concerned, sounding like Paulie is any more pitiable than he is.

“Yeah?”

“You kids’ll grow up. You’ll see. What do you want to do when you’re older?”

Paulie shrugs. Adults always ask that, but he doesn’t know. There’s nothing _to_ do. Nothing that’s worth anything.

There’ll never be a Water 8, he’s pretty sure. There’s nothing from here worth salvaging.

The old man sighs. “This was a pretty lousy birthday, I imagine. Here.” He pulls the sunglasses over his head and holds them out.

“Huh?” Paulie says.

“Birthday present,” the old man says. “It’s something, no?” His smile is a little shaky.

Paulie stares. Then he takes the glasses, gingerly.

They look almost new, a bright splash of colour against the drab surroundings. The sun gleams off them when he tilts them side to side, and he doesn’t know where the old man got them, but he loves them already. Maybe more than anything.

Paulie doesn’t remember being ten, when he’s older.

His childhood flows together in murky brown, dirty streets, cracked bridges, a haze of hopelessness and decay muting everything. One day was alike the next, one year like the one before it.

He still remembers being handed a promise that it’s not all bad. He remembers not believing it, but he remembers holding on and not letting go.

He still has not let go.

Paulie is twelve when the sea train comes in to the station for the very first time.

The station is packed, the streets are full, and the haze is nowhere to be seen, chased away by the power of an immense machine.

The sea train stops at the station, and Paulie realizes he’s never _known_ hope before. He’s never seen it, only pale imitations of it, and this, this is incredible.

The wheels of the train split the sea, sending a shining blue veil of water a meter into the sea, glittering rainbows in the sunlight. People cheer and they shout, and it’s joy. True joy, rising through the air, up up up, and it never comes back down.

The sea train leaves, and it comes back, carrying people with it. People who have never heard the stories of the glorious city of Water.

People who never will. People who don’t have to. Because they’ll live in it.

Paulie sees the sea train split the murky brown of Water 7 right open, and he knows what he wants to do with his life.

If he can make even a fraction of something this great, he’ll be happy.

When he’s twenty-four, his orange lenses crack in a fight against someone he thought was a friend.

He has them fixed.

Because things can always get better, he knows, as long as you work to change them.


End file.
